Jason Luthor - Floor 21

“I presumed because you were lazy.”

“Nah. Extra-heavy sleeper is all.”

“Damn.”

“Anyway, feel like heading to the lounge? Heard they had that game system set up.”

Allison. I love her to death, and she really does get my mind off things. Which is good, since so much has been weird lately. Especially today. I don’t just mean because the Scavenging’s been going on for almost three weeks now, which I mean, what? That’s totally not supposed to happen. Seriously, though, something’s up. I mean, think about it.

One, Dad’s been gone. A lot. I know I get angry at him, but… he’s my dad. And yeah, he’s typically gone a lot during the Scavenging, because he’s responsible for making all the weapons and repairing stuff. I get that. This time of year he’s usually off making replacement weapons for Security to use, but he’s been spending way too many late nights on Floor 3. Like, a lot more than usual. Then when he comes around, he’s even more quiet than he normally is. Doesn’t even read his tablet, and that’s one thing he never used to skip on. Even on our worst days, I like to think that we get along, but lately it’s like his body’s here but nothing else. He’ll barely say a word when he gets back from work, and he hides himself in his study. Mom’s been antsy about it, too. She’s always nervous when she’s not nutso happy anyway, but it’s been worse than normal. It’s got to be because of something going on with Dad. Her moods normally come in waves, but right now her anxiety’s like an ocean.

That’s not the only thing, though. Later on, Allison mentioned that her father’s been gone a lot more than normal, too, and not for usual stuff like hallway patrol. According to her they’ve been tightening up security on the lower levels. You know, below Floor 11. They’re making sure everyone’s in bed by curfew and making it harder to use the stairwell. I can back up that point. I tried going down to Floor 12 the other day, and they were being real tools about it, asking me why I was going there and what business I had. Uh, excuse me, I know we’re supposed to follow certain rules, and as far as I knew, I wasn’t breaking any of them. So care to back off, Mr. Cop?

It was irritating at the time, but now it’s scary. Increased security. Dad’s been gone longer. Scavengers have been gone a lot more than usual. And before I forget, Allison also told me that Security was thinking about going real deep into the Tower. Like, Scavenger level deep. Below Floor 21.

If they’re thinking about doing that, then there has to be a reason. Maybe they’re trying to push back the Creep and reclaim a few floors, or maybe they’re considering going after the Scavengers. How should I know?

What I know is that this is all happening at the same time, and that creeps me the hell out.

I’m worried about Mike. Yeah, I said it. So what? The sorry part is that he’s three years into his term as a Scavenger. After three years they rotate you out and into the reserves; that way they only use you if, like, we lose a bunch of Scavengers at once. Most people that hit three years ride out the last four years of scavenging as backups that never go back down to the lower floors. A few actually choose to stick with it, so they get bumped to lieutenants and eventually commanders. There aren’t a lot of them, but they get mad respect.

Actually, come to think of it, people from the lower levels do try to stick it out on the active list for the entire seven years more often than anyone else. Want to know why?

So, I’ve said before that people on the lower levels don’t get as much food, and they don’t get free access up here, to the higher floors. Now, if you’re born on the lower levels, it sucks to be you. Right? Well, that’s where being a Scavenger can help. If you do an entire seven years as one, you and everyone living in your apartment are moved up to Floor 11. Talk about a perk, am I right?

Thing is, have you ever heard of anyone finishing seven years as an active Scavenger and moving to the higher levels? I haven’t.

That’s because most people die before their first three years are up.

Which, for those of you keeping track at home, is why I’m worried about Mike. People have a bad habit of dying in their third year. Mike lives on a pretty good floor so he’s just doing this because he likes helping the tower out. Plus I mean, the whole chance to learn more about the Creep thing. Point is, he didn’t have to do this. He chose to, and this was the last year he was going to have to be down there.

Now I don’t know if he’s coming back.

Dad didn’t come home today.

Mom’s going crazy.

I can’t cope, man. Nobody’s saying anything about what’s going on.

Mike’s gone. Security’s everywhere.

I need to get some answers.

The speaker says, “ Day twenty of the Scavenging has begun ,” and it forces me out of bed. That’s not a bad thing, since I have garden duty today. The light outside is bright enough that there are slits of it cutting across our gray carpet. Most days it’s choked out by black clouds, so it’s nice to actually see some real sun for once. It’s usually doing its best to play hide-and-seek. It usually wins.

Gardening sucks, and this is a well-known fact. At least, I hate it. The gloves they make you wear have been used by, like, a hundred other people. You’re shoving your hand into a leather container full of other people’s bacteria and dead skin. That’s gross. You put up with it, though, since you’d rather wear them than use the garden tools without them. The shovel we use has all these splinters jabbing out that try to stab you. We’re talking life-threatening levels here. You could kill a vampire with those things.

That might be an exaggeration.

I walk around the apartment and put together a few things. Mom is already gone. I’m not sure where, but everything’s pretty quiet. I’m still pretty agitated, though. Think about it. With everything going on, who wouldn’t be? Dad didn’t come back. Again. Even as weird as he’s become over the last few years, he’s not an absent father. That’s just not him. Also, tomorrow is Sevenths Day, and he always makes it a point to attend.

Which reminds me, the food drop is tomorrow. We need it. I check the fridge to see what we have to eat, but it’s a total downer. The cold light inside leaks out into the kitchen, and the sad part is that the dingy fridge light is about all we have at this point. That, cold air, and a few vegetables that are blacker than usual.

Have I told you the most depressing part about gardening? Looking at those sad vegetables. Even when you yank them from the dirt and they’re fresh, their skin is already kinda brown. It doesn’t take more than two days before they start going black. I mean, I know they’re still safe to eat, but they look like yesterday’s bathwater. I cut up a few of them and dump them into a bowl to make soup. The worst part about that is what happens to the water. It doesn’t take more than, like, a minute before the soup goes black. The changes they’ve made to our vegetables mean they last longer, but they also look like junk. It’s not because they’re rotten; just, it’s the chemicals in them. Or something like that.

So after the water turns black, I grab some coloring from the cabinet, which is the only way to make soup look even remotely appealing. We use glass vials so we know what type of color we’re using. Today I choose red. I open the top and let a few drops into the water. Soon I’ve got a rich crimson soup that looks like tomato sauce. Well, watery tomato sauce, but at least it’s something you can eat. Must suck to live on the lower floors and not have coloring.